


(Don't) Turn up the Heat

by summerartist



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley being concerned, Gen, Heat Stroke, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 05:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerartist/pseuds/summerartist
Summary: When hellfire gives Aziraphale moderate heat stroke, Crowley has to step in.





	(Don't) Turn up the Heat

It had all started with a heist. It had been Crowley’s idea but Aziraphale had responded with equal enthusiasm when he had learned of the reasoning behind it. Hell had hidden a weapon, a weapon that would do more harm to humanity than it would to the celestial corporation of their bodies.

It had not been well guarded, at least not to those of their myriad of abilities. Then again, hell would not have expected for an angel and a demon to team up in this endeavor. They had destroyed the weapon and it would have been all over and forgotten within a day. At least, so it had seemed at first.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale began.

The demon in the driver’s seat turned his head to glance at the rather flushed looking angel. When his companion did not continue, Crowley prompted him. “Yes?”

Aziraphale leaned an arm against the Bentley door and struggled to find the best way to alert the demon without causing undue concern. It was best to be direct, if not entirely open about the matter.

“I may need to get out for a bit. Prepare, perhaps, to pull over.”

What little Aziraphale could see of his golden eyes flashed. They could have easily transported themselves back to the bookshop with a mild miracle, but the car had been the least detectable way to alert heaven and hell to their clandestine activities.

“Right,” Crowley acknowledged.

Though he said nothing more, Aziraphale could tell that he was glancing at him with more frequency. In truth, Aziraphale’s head had been feeling a little light but it was not bothersome enough as to cause real concern.

They were only minutes away from their destination anyway, and when Crowley stopped the car, Aziraphale breathed a sigh. Crowley got out and leaned against the vehicle roof. Crowley waited as the angel slowly exited and took a few steps towards his shop. Crowley whisked the door open for him.

“That Hellfire didn’t get you, did it?” Crowley asked, blunt and to the point.

Aziraphale shook his head. “It didn’t touch me. I’m just feeling a trifle light-headed, nothing to worry about. I’ll go sit down for a moment.” The angel had sounded polite.

The demon nodded and watched him walk the rest of the way. It was then that a thought struck the angel. “The book- My book is still in the back of your car. You know, the one with all of the maps.” Aziraphale would have hated to lose it, not when it had been so useful all of these years.

The demon nodded and told him that he would be back with it. The angel sat in a chair placed near the entrance of the bookshop, a handy little stepping stool to reach the upper shelves. Aziraphale turned the sign to “Open” without getting up, and waited for his energy to return.

Crowley was not gone long, indeed, he had only stopped long enough to do a cursory glance of the street before retrieving his friend’s book. He walked back inside with a swagger, ready to proclaim credit for retrieving his friend’s prize. What he had found inside quickly dashed all superfluous thoughts from his head.

* * *

As Aziraphale had sat down, he thought that he may need to lean over for a bit. The blood pumping within his corporeal body had taken a detour from the vessels in his head. He would have to set it to rights by putting his head between his knees.

The position gave him only minor relief and he found himself leaning over more and more, a little desperate to resolve the strange numbness spreading through him. He slid down, quite by accident, to the floor and rested on his knees. While he found that the position was pleasant to his overtaxed body, his balance was severely compromised. He toppled over like a great column that could no longer support its own weight.

As the angel lay there, it occurred to him that he should have risen much sooner and not have fallen into the trap that exhaustion had lain for him. He would distress Crowley with this behavior.

Already, he could hear the demon coming back. It was all too soon and the angel was helpless to stop it. There was an intake of breath.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley cried out and stumbled forward. He knelt at the angel’s side and shook his shoulder. “What are you doing on the floor?”

Aziraphale groaned. He felt Crowley’s hand skim over his side. There was silence for a moment as the demon went over his options and Aziraphale attempted to gauge his ability to get up.

“Come on, that doesn’t look comfortable,” the demon observed.

It was not, in fact, that comfortable. But the floor was cool at least. Aziraphale murmured an apology.

“Bugger that. Just get up, will you?” Crowley pulled distractedly at the angel’s button-down like a child trying to rouse a tired parent. “Come on.”

“S’rry.” Aziraphale did not even stir. “I just feel so...tired.” He had never felt so weary before.

The demon withdrew his hand and sat back on his heels. He rose and took a few steps away, leaving Aziraphale in silence. Aziraphale strained to hear some sound coming from his companion, attempting to guess his activities. Eventually, his friend returned and Aziraphale heard soft footfalls approach him. A cold wet cloth was laid over the back of his neck. Aziraphale shut his eyes.

“Come on, angel. Up.”

The insistence made Aziraphale try to move parts of his body. It was like he was covered in molasses and as limp as a noodle. He strained to find some tiny spark of energy, but to his dismay he could only turn slightly, his back facing upward as he sluggishly pulled an elbow to his chest. He grunted.

“Let’s get you to the lounge,” Crowley said flatly. “I’ll carry you.”

The declaration made Aziraphale’s heart skip a beat and suddenly Crowley’s hands were supporting him under the armpits. He tugged the angel up until Crowley was standing with Aziraphale dangling in front of him. The angel made a small sound.

“I’ve got you,” Crowley assured. “Let’s walk.”

Crowley dragged Aziraphale gently backwards, the angel stricken with vertigo in his arms. Aziraphale knew that Crowley had him secure but his natural instincts of flight hovered just beneath the surface. In fact, his wings were threatening to manifest.

“I won’t drop you,” Crowley promised.

They had crossed the room where Crowley settled him down onto the couch and swiftly divested the angel of his shoes. He undid the dark laces at the top until he could slide them off. Aziraphale felt him rolling down his thick socks and throwing those aside too.

Crowley snapped his fingers and the ceiling above them began to snow. The air temperature dropped significantly as large fluffy flakes landed on top of them. The whiteness clung to Crowley’s russet hair and the perceptual change roused Aziraphale enough to speak.

“My dear, the books!” Aziraphale protested. There was to be no drastic weather phenomina within his shop, not when the first editions were only a shelf away.

Crowley snapped again and the snowflakes vanished, replaced instead by several large industrial fans. “There, is that to your satisfaction, angel?” he asked a tad sarcastically.

The cold air blew over them and the buzzing of the metal contraptions added a pleasant element of background noise.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Yes. Thank you.”

He had been so taken aback when Crowley had taken charge of the situation. While Aziraphale had been at a loss about what was plaguing him, Crowley seemed to know right away that he was overheated. As he watched, Crowley produced a few icepacks that he tucked under his ailing friend. He produced an ice-cold glass of water and held it out to him.

“Here. Drink.”

Aziraphale surveyed the glass a bit helplessly, wanting badly to obey but having not the means to complete the task. He gave Crowley a look as he fruitlessly pondered how to sit up.

The look Crowley returned was equal parts exasperation and amusement. “I can help you drink, you know.”

Without ceremony, the demon slid a hand beneath his head and lifted the glass to his lips. The intimacy of the situation caused more color to rise to Aziraphale’s cheeks, but he let the demon continue to assist him. Water filled his mouth and he had to turn his head slightly to let Crowley know he could not take all of the fluid the demon was pouring in. His shirt was growing damp as the overflow dribbled from his lips.

Crowley slowly pulled back and seemed unconcerned about the condition of his companion’s shirt. He rose from his crouched position to survey Aziraphale.

“Rest, angel. Let me know if you need anything,” Crowley told him.

Aziraphale blinked dumbly at him, senses still dazed. Crowley stood for a minute more before he retreated. The low buzzing and the icepacks temporarily diverted the angel. He controlled his breathing and took in several long draws of air until he was beginning to feel more corporeal. Had Crowley really just tenderly removed his socks and shoes until the angel’s feet lay bare upon the lounge?

While flushed, Aziraphale’s cheeks were not so overwhelmed with color as they had been before. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was moments like these that reminded him just how kind Crowley could be.

“You can’t kill kids!” The demon had protested all those years ago. He was supposed to be a being of pestilence and malcontent. Aziraphale had never known a being of less cruelty, truth be told. He was mildly ashamed to admit it, but not even his side had been so forgiving towards him.

Gradually, Crowley slunk around and set a glass of iced tea on the sidetable by the angel. The open sign had been turned and the doors locked and bolted. They were safely ensconced in their little hideaway, blinds closed and cool air whirling around them. Crowley settled himself into an adjacent armchair and set a record on the turntable with a wave of his hand.

“Mind if I put on some music?” The demon asked.

Aziraphale gave a gesture that set the record spinning. The volume was softer than it usually was, no doubt a mild intervention performed by Crowley. Aziraphale found himself dozing in the peaceful atmosphere, under an unobtrusive watch.

As a rule, angels didn’t need to sleep. He could have stayed awake all afternoon and had been none of the worse for wear for it. This time when he slipped under, he was looking forward to the rest.

“Ugh, Peer Gynt,” Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale smiled as the record piped gently in the background. No longer troubled by hellfire and other inconveniences, the pair relaxed. They spent a quiet afternoon that would lead to a better morning. Aziraphale woke feeling refreshed with the demon for company.

The End. 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: When experiencing symptoms of heat stroke please contact a medical professional and not your resident demon.


End file.
